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“This is such an amazing event. I can’t wait for you to qualify.”

— Sarah Adams, in a text to me, the night before the race

Sarah Adams was in her Boston hotel Monday night, just hours after her race — or what was left of it — waiting in a long line for a special buffet prepared for guests who were essentially in lockdown mode. She looked around and saw all the medals hanging from the other runners’ necks. And then she began to cry.

Adams, 34, of Greeley had already shed some tears of relief for her husband, John Kalejta, when she saw him a mile from the finish, at a cemetery where they agreed to meet after she borrowed a cell phone and texted him. She was happier to see him at that cemetery than she was on her wedding day. She shed a few more tears for the limbs and lives lost.

But now she shed tears for her race. She wanted a medal, too. She wanted it so bad that she refused medical treatment twice, at miles 7 and 18, despite puking from a chronic stomach problem probably a dozen times. It’s Boston, she told the doctors. I’m finishing.

And yet the explosion, and those behind it, stole her dream. She was one of the few thousand who hadn’t finished when the bombs went off. She was in New York when she learned the mayor canceled that race because of the hurricane. Now she was less than a half-mile from the end when they told her Boston was over. Then she learned why, and she thought of John, who was probably at the finish waiting for her, and panicked.

She had John, and she had her health and she was thankful — but still, it hurt. It takes a hard third of a year to prepare for Boston, but it takes longer than that — in some cases, much longer — to get there. Most runners have to qualify for it, and that means running at least one more marathon. Many have to run for years to get to that level, because the qualifying times are tough; so tough that less than 10 percent of most marathon fields make it in. Adams flew to Houston for its flat course and generous oxygen and ran it hard and made it. And then she waited a year and a half for the chance to experience Boston, the lifetime achievement award for runners both amateur and professional.

“The great thing, the reason it’s so cool, is it’s THE marathon,” said Marty Damrell, 57, of Eaton who finished his third Monday. “It’s the one you want to be a part of.”

Boston is the pinnacle, sure, but it’s also the spectators that crowd the streets five rows deep and cheer their lungs out, and it’s the volunteers who hand out cut oranges and say it’s just a little longer, and it’s the stars, like Kara Goucher and Joan Benoit Samuelson, who Damrell saw several times on his hotel floor. Adams didn’t wear headphones, even if going without music for three hours during a hard race seemed like torture, and it was the best decision she made, she said, because the atmosphere was unlike any other race she’s experienced.

Steve and Karen Anderson think it’s special too. They were waiting in line for the bus 10 years ago before one Boston Marathon and struck up a conversation. They’ve been married four years now. They live in Fort Collins, but Steve is a professor at the University of Northern Colorado known for his volcano research, and Karen is a graduate. On Monday, Steve ran his fifth, and Karen ran her eighth.

“We don’t do it every year, but it’s a special deal when we do,” Steve said. “Sometimes we run together, and sometimes we try to go for a time and qualify again.”

It was not Steve Monroney’s favorite race. It was crowded and hilly, and he had a tough last couple of miles. His calf cramped. It IS a marathon, one with a hill named Heartbreak. And yet Monroney, who recently moved to Denver but still runs with Bells Running in Greeley, was buzzing about the race with a friend after they finished. He snapped a photo with him and posted it on Facebook. And then, moments later, they heard a boom.

His friend thought it might be a celebration for Patriot’s Day, but Monroney thought the boom was too loud. Too angry. Then the streets started filling with sirens. Tuesday, he teared up while he recounted his story. He’s cried many times since Monday.

But he said he won’t let those responsible steal the race from him. He’s angry. Monroney talked about his race, too, not just the sinister last act. He wants to feel good about it.

“I have to get the sound of the bombs out of my head,” he said.

Steve Anderson said now he and Karen feel obligated to go back. Everyone was so kind. He and Karen got to New Hampshire despite the chaos because, somehow, the residents showed them a way around it. Damrell thought this may be his last Boston before he ran it Monday, but Tuesday he rode with Kevin Hanson, the famous running coach, on the way to the airport, and Hanson talked about bringing a big contingent of runners to the race next year. He talked to Damrell about making a statement. Damrell now he thinks he will go back, too.

There was talk among friends of Adams, myself included, to buy her a medal. She would have finished, and we thought she earned it. But she doesn’t want that. She wants to go back next year, get it herself and celebrate with the spectators and runners who all deserve a better finish than the one they got Monday.

— Staff writer Dan England covers the outdoors, entertainment and general assignment stories for The Tribune. His column runs on Tuesday. If you have an idea for a column, call (970) 392-4418 or e-mail dengland@greeleytribune.com. Follow him on Twitter @ DanEngland.